


This is Ikea, Not a Shelter

by mithrilstarlight



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 08:11:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3721561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mithrilstarlight/pseuds/mithrilstarlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yet again, Sansa has to kick him out of the beds in her department. She's starting to get fed up with his shenanigans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is Ikea, Not a Shelter

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a prompt I saw on Tumblr. Thought it might be cute to write. For reference, I've never actually been in an Ikea. We didn't have one where I lived.

Sansa heard a chatter come through the radio at her belt. She was knee-deep in a pile of fancy, fluffy pillows that were supposed to be neatly set up for display. A five-year-old boy with a tantrum made sure that wasn't the case. She liked children, but not when they were in the store. Children caused her nothing but grief between their reckless running through the aisles and their general disregard for anything that could be fragile.

For the third time that day, her boss ordered her to drop what she was doing and get over to the beds and take care of an issue. The first time had been a pair of teenage brats who thought it was a great idea to start jumping on the beds. Not only were they ruining her hard work of making the beds look pretty, but they were going to wreck the mattress, which was technically also for sale and one would think to be in a brand new condition upon purchase. The second nightmare in that part of the store was a different little boy with a tantrum. His parents, the mother very much pregnant, were shopping for a new bed and weren't being quick enough with it.

Despite all of her daily stresses, it was a job she enjoyed. At least, she enjoyed it enough that she didn't want to quit. There were bigger and better things, but not until she had some kind of a steady living.

As Sansa rounded the corner, retying her red hair back into a ponytail, she huffed at what she saw before her eyes. For the fourth time in four days, this idiot was sleeping in one of the beds. And it was one of the nicer ones, too. Whoever he was, he insisted on coming into the store at some random time in the afternoon and sleeping in one of these beds.

She walked over, arms crossed, and stood over him. He looked dead. He was a bit unkempt, but not in the dirty, gross kind of way. In the I-haven't-really-groomed-myself-in-a-week way. Without a second thought, she yanked off her shoe (for fear of staining the sheets) and kicked him out of the bed. He landed on the floor with a loud thump, followed by a groan of pain.

"This is the fourth time in four days I've had to kick you out of one of these beds. What is wrong with you? Are you homeless or something? This isn't a shelter, it's an Ikea," Sansa snapped. She was usually a sweet person to customers, always receiving great praise from her boss. But this irritating visitor was testing her patience.

The young man heaved himself up, putting his elbows on the bed and looking at her through his mop of slightly overgrown brown curls. Smirking, he replied, "I'm not homeless, I'm just testing the bed."

"Yeah, right." Sansa rolled her eyes and put her hand to her brow. "Look, do you need me to call someone? You can't keep doing this. I have a real job to do and yet here I am, kicking your sorry ass."

"I wouldn't say my ass is sorry. On the contrary, my ass is very pleased to see you." The man smirked and then ducked as she chucked the shoe that was in her hand at his head. He popped his head back up and stuck out his tongue before retrieving her shoe from a few feet away. "I'm just messing with you, okay? I'm not homeless."

"Quit messing. It's not funny." Sansa glared at him before turning and walking off.

The man waved the shoe. "Forgetting something?" he called out. Sansa turned around, snatched it from him, and then went back to huffing her way back to work. He jogged up behind her as she was putting the shoe back on several aisles away.

"You know, you are a very committed employee," he said. She didn't bother looking at him. "I mean, you're like clockwork. Every day, after I'm done with lunch, I wander in here. You're never at the front. I wander for about an hour through the kitchen section and then make my way here. And, without fail, you are always the one to kick my ass."

"That's because I'm in charge of this section during this shift. What else did you think there was to this?" Sansa gave him a cold glance as she stooped to pick up the pillows she had previously been organizing. The man picked up a couple of the more frilly products and started helping her to arrange them on the shelves.

"No, it's just that you're so driven to do this job. You're always here, you're always on time. This can't be everything you want, right?" he asked. She didn't respond. "Okay, maybe it is. I don't know you. But I think someone who can kick my ass as much as you is probably someone I should get to know." He smirked at himself as she sighed and stopped working. Looking up at him, she put her hands on her hips.

"What is it you want?" The man's smile faltered. He winced a little, running his hand through his hair and looking around. Sansa was growing impatient with his games. Like lightning, she snapped her fingers in front of his face to get his attention. "Spit it out, Willas."

"Want to get dinner after your shift?"


End file.
